A Prelude to Death
by Taes
Summary: A warrior of death, and not unlikened to that eerie spector, Vegeta was a man to be feared. But what will happen when hes defeated time and time again, left to the whims of dreams and pain? AU. Companion piece to LI. No romance. Revised version.


This is a work of fiction, written for entertainment purposes alone. If I inadvertently offend anyone, I do apologize, but I'm not likely to be sorry. I'd like to note that this is a purely what-if scenario, written in efforts to explain a character that might have been, had the situation been different. In other words, you might want to read my other story, LI, if you want to fully understand this one. Dedicated to those people who reminded me that all things, especially characters that hold the respect of so many, deserve explanation.  
  
Warnings: angst, blood, battles and some references to sexual acts. This story is rated PG-13 for violence, curse words, and angst. No romances of any kind. Also, the weird computers of Japan don't seem to let me upload italics in stories. sorry. That means emphasis and thoughts are sometimes mixed up in the descriptive pieces. if anyone knows how to fix that, PLEASE tell me.!  
  
Disclaimer: DBZ isn't mine, nor are any of the characters portrayed within this short story. The plot, at least part of it, is mine, and so are the odd twists of phrasing I tend to define as writing. I make no money off this whatsoever.  
  
Note: a star (*) indicates there's a footnote (located at the very end of the story). Also, please forgive the strange characters, spacing, or whatever that appear anywhere. I can't quite figure out these Japanese keyboards, and, well, I'm not entirely certain that what I see is what everyone else sees.  
  
A Prelude to Death  
  
by Taes Willett  
  
In an instant, the entire settlement was reduced to rubble, and any cries of protest were silenced in a blast that froze shadows to the stone. Apprehension, trepidation, and complete horror shone in the faces of the damned, and in that moment the occupants of the village, simple craftsmen and farmers, were introduced to the cold specter of Death.  
  
It was a grim sight to behold.  
  
The smoldering buildings took on a tomblike quality in the dim light, as the dust and debris blocked the ever-present sun in mockery of a twilight this planet had never known. Ash was heavy in the air still, as the bright afterglow faded from the memory of the world, and the sweet surrender of silence took over the planes, passing the remembrance of a desert summer's youth into the rock where people had once lived.  
  
The wind blew quietly over the remains, spreading the foul stench of death across everything, a reminder of what had come to pass and all that had yet to come. The dying cries of the villagers seemed to echo along with that smell, sending a chill to all living things that encountered this dreadful wail. It was Namek's lament, and the sorrow, the profound grief that had never before been seen here, was great. Already, this was a day to remember, a day to forget.  
  
And through it all, one man stood firm, tall against the wind that could have felled mountains. He was a warrior, a man defeated seldom and triumphant among men who slew galaxies and enslaved universes. He was a man cowed neither by threat of death nor torture, and his heart was cased in stone. A smile touched his features, and a cold delight overtook him as the smoke cleared, and the graveyard remained as it was; broken. Defeated.  
  
A gentle laugh shook his shoulders, and unperturbedly, carefully, he scanned the surroundings for life.  
  
For this carnage, and incidents of the same variety, he was feared and nearly unchallenged. For his brutality, for the callous disregard with which he handled his assignments, and the complete, total devastation he wrought wherever he went, he was well known throughout the ranks of soldiers. Both those of high caliber and those who served only as fodder in a merciless war against all life knew his name, and few would stand against him by choice. He was deliberate, he was unrelenting, and he had been defeated in battle by one man alone, a man of the same dying race, and a man of low class.  
  
For this, he was shamed, and for this, he would find revenge, or he would find death. So were the ways of his people, and so blew the winds of death and destruction.  
  
It was not long before his sharp eyes picked out the bodies of two young children, cowering quietly behind a boulder that had somehow saved them. It would have been unremarkable, save for the astonishing fact that it was there, when so much had already fallen. Their eyes were wide with fear, and filled with unnoticed tears for the lives of their friends and families. Amusement shown clearly across the man's features, and something unknown touched his face as he gently rolled a glowing, red-orange orb across the sand, toeing it with one foot as he considered his options.  
  
Options. The word implied choices, as it implied freedom, and of those he had very little. Serving under an army too great to be stopped, and too large to be counted, he held his judgment close, and exercised it with great care, and much patience, consideration and precision.  
  
Slowly, one gloved hand was raised. A bright ball of energy known as chi filled his palm, and slowly, he smiled. He turned away from the rubble, kicking the orb up and securing it with the other hand as if he'd done precisely that his entire life, and fired, a short, potent blast not unlike the one that had desecrated the village moments before; he hadn't bothered to aim, or even to see if the two creatures remained alive. To his way of thinking, it could make no difference one way or the other. If they were dead, fine. That was certainly one way to end this whole affair. If not, well, he couldn't, in all honestly, say that he cared. It wasn't likely that either of them, alive or dead, would make a difference in how these matters turned out.  
  
Looking with some small amount of curiosity at the brightly colored orb, absently counting the stars, seemingly trapped within it like insects in a globe of amber, he wondered.  
  
Freeza, overseer of this operation, master of troops uncounted, and lord of the known universe, wanted these things, these seeming children's toys, more than he wanted any of the underlings he held dominion over. The reason was simple. These things, these bright balls of candy colored glass, could grant the bearer a wish. Any wish. be it for riches, or renewed life for those passed on. And Freeza, the Aeesu-jin* who held armies at his beck and call, had one wish in mind that would damn all Vegeta's plans to the lowest of hells.  
  
It was immortality he craved. For what is power, if it can be lost through death?  
  
Grinning now, he tossed the ball in the air experimentally, gazing at one of the acclaimed Dragon Balls that could tip the balance in another person's favor. Freeza had asked him to find these things, to locate them as quickly as possible and secure them. What he hadn't said, however, was what to do with them once those two things had been accomplished.  
  
So he threw the thing in a lake.  
  
Starting into the air with renewed enthusiasm, the man let his thoughts wander, pondering the past events. Damned to the most humiliating of jobs, flying across a wasteland on Freeza's bidding, on a gold hunt that he would have undertaken for himself, had circumstances been different, Vegeta grimaced. Lady Luck, it seemed, had picked a favorite for this particular adventure, and it was not him.  
  
Prior to his landing at the star base, where he was to recuperate, not long after his initial fight with Kakarott, he'd been summoned here, as if Freeza had gained some miraculous insight to his plans, and had taken efforts to thwart them. Somehow, probably due to an altogether foolproof design in the communication devices lodged in their Scouters, the Aeesu-jin had found out about the curious properties of the orbs that they'd been searching for. So here he was, unable to heal as quickly as he might have, trying to interrupt Freeza's plans long enough for him to steal the things from under his nose. Until then, he was all but literally chained to the hand of Zarbon, his guard and enemy.  
  
The blue skinned man was his superior in nearly every way possible; not only did he hold a higher rank; he was stronger and more experienced than he as well. Ever since he was a child, Vegeta had known the harsh tutelage of this man and others like him, undergoing their impossible orders and upon completion of these tasks, he would undoubtedly find he'd managed to miss a loophole yet again, despite his attempts at caution. He could either have been reduced to a sniveling whelp of a boy because of it, or he could have found his feet and stood tall against them.  
  
His pride allowed for one response only, and for it he was nearly redeemed.  
  
Zarbon himself had nearly nothing to do with the young Saiya-jin, but his presence had been made known by the training he received, and the difficult, nearly impossible missions he was to undertake. He would continuously seize on the fact that none of the soldiers held Vegeta in high favor, and use their contempt to spread implausible rumors that should never have stood against the light of day. But they were believed, for whom do you trust in a feud between two superiors? A lowly prince, or the second in command?  
  
Needless to say, the two were not close.  
  
The wind blew strongly against his tanned face, and as he watched the ground below, he thought he could make out the small, dismal forms of three gawky beings that seemed as out of place in the desert as he himself was. Most likely they were some sort of scout troop Freeza had sent out, coming to see how Vegeta's search progressed, and whether or not he followed the orders he'd been given. He was on parole, of sorts, largely thanks to his behavior on Earth, and mostly to irk him. The sight of these three, lackeys of the lowest degree and of the highest stem of contempt, filled him with annoyance, and the knowledge that he still remained, in Freeza's eyes, untrustworthy, caused a slight tremor of anger in his gloved hands.  
  
In his memory, dour faces stared at him from behind cold eyes, and Freeza's cruel laughter overcame all. Sweet sunlight knew nothing when it came down to it, and the silence of the past could not be broken by thoughts alone, nor could wishes change them.  
  
Well, not just any wish. But there were limits to even a magical dragon's powers, and the mysteries of forgotten times and present living could seldom be solved when the sentient mind was involved.  
  
When these bleak moments had passed, and the large, circular ship of a prison he was to reside in came into view, he was largely disquieted, and too infuriated to do more than glower as he entered the domed dwelling. None would meet his gaze, and the guards who were to protect Freeza and his lot from surprise attack withered under the hot gaze of one Saiya-jin prince who'd, in their minds, failed in his duty, for they saw no glowing Dragon Ball, and thought his venture unsuccessful.  
  
Had he taken notice, he would have smiled to see that.  
  
It was brightly lit in the confines of the ship, though in comparison to the sweltering desert rays out of doors, it was dim, and poorly illuminated, though his eyes made the adjustment far more quickly than another, of lesser competence, might have. The air was not filled with dust, as the outdoors were, and it was far less dry, as well. Everything, down to the smallest detail, was all customized to fit the overlord's preferences, making the entire dwelling one rather cold maze of corridors and rooms. It took some prior knowledge to find one's feet in this world, much less anything of greater importance, like where to get nourishment.  
  
He was unfortunate enough to be stationed in a room very near to Freeza's, so eating there was never something he would willingly submit himself to, should he have the choice, as that usually meant having the Aeesu-jin's attention drawn, and thereby relinquishing one of the rare free moments he had. So it was off to the cafeteria, the mess hall that, due to the sheer amount of different creatures here, was well equipped with every type of food imaginable, and some that weren't. The mess hall, as it was generally called, was filled with tables and chairs of all sizes, dimly lit either to save power or to inspire a more relaxed mood, he didn't know, and remained as loud and discomforting as it had always been. He was hardly a person who enjoyed the company of anyone, much less many strangers who found it in their best interest to get to know him, so the first ventures here were disagreeable.  
  
As a result of these many introductions, he'd earned his reputation all over again, regrettably, or so Freeza claimed, destroying as many of the guards as he saw, finding pleasure in disposing of the ones who displeased him, and centering his attention on the idiots who dared intrude. It was nothing short of a massacre, and to the lizard-like men who made up the bulk of Freeza's army; it was a cruel reminder of how this same prince had treated the leader of their people. Needless to say, he'd earned few friends among the masses, and the kitchen staff saw to it that he was served quickly, and hardly ever reduced to surrounding himself entirely with the lower ranking fodder, else the unlucky waiter or waitress might well have found him or herself as a surrogate meal.  
  
Settling down to a meal that he wasn't particularly fond of, Vegeta immersed himself in the process of eating, not bothering to taste what was in front of him, simply devouring it with the single-minded determinedness some people forced themselves into while fighting. He'd never done so, himself, as the art of making war on others came as naturally to him as breathing, and the gnawing conscience others possessed left him nearly untouched.  
  
He might well have sat there in silence, for some time, had his refuge in thoughts not been interrupted.  
  
"-the idiot murdered hisss own people!" the sharp, scaly voice of the lizard-man cut through the ruckus like a knife through butter, and the low growl of self-righteous anger filled the thing with a sense of safety he ought to be without.  
  
A near unison chuckle met that remark, and slowly, there were murmurs of agreement as the nearby table added their comments to this, but their laughter was beaten down by a cheerful remark from one of the strange, fish- like species that held Vegeta's attention so readily. "Nah, you bum, that was Master Freeza!" the thing laughed, its purple face contracting in a broad grin as it drew the group's eye. "Though I reckon he ought to have done something about it, other than letting himself be enslaved by that one." he smirked, putting special emphasis on the word, as if by so doing the meaning was somehow changed.  
  
Gritting his teeth, Vegeta pulled his focus elsewhere, knowing that if he were to begin anew the same butchery as before, there would be a price to pay that he wouldn't particularly like.  
  
"It ain't slavery if it's voluntary!" one laughed, amusement heavy on its slow, slurred voice. "You know prince Vegeta would do anything to keep 'imself in good graces with Master Freeza."  
  
For a moment there was silence within, and the din of the room was filled with the clatter of plates, various utensils, and the murmured conversations of those unaware of the disturbance. Slowly, Vegeta rose to his feet, a thin smile on his face as he leisurely found his way towards them. Unawares, they continued their talk, too stupid to realize when they knocked too loudly on Death's door.  
  
The lizard-man nodded in mute agreement, a cruel smile in place, his pointed teeth glittering strangely in the atmosphere as he spoke. "Aye, hisss father taught him that much, at leassst." he laughed, a tiny, mirrored image of the terror that was Freeza, a derisory imitation of the one being all here paid homage to. "Long live the king!" he scoffed. Slowly, Vegeta smiled, and the group of aliens, guardsmen and piteous warriors all, finally saw him. All, of course, but the lizard-man. "Bassstard raisssed one hell of a ssson, but he should have told him the trouble of lying with dogsss."  
  
"Is that so?" amusement crept into the prince's voice, and a deadly calm air overtook him. He smirked. The creature stiffened with alarm, slowly turning about with the fear he'd been without moments before. "And please, enlighten me. What is the trouble of "lying with dogs," pray tell?" his black eyes glinted.  
  
".Vegeta." Its eyes were wide, and the anger he'd displayed earlier was not gone, only hidden behind the fear that overtook his body. He snarled.  
  
One palm raised, the prince tilted his head as if to ask a question, a curious quirk to his eyebrows. "Be certain you say hello for me," he noted, and a small sphere formed between he and his chosen victim. For a moment, there was silence, broken only by the final scream of a creature not yet ready to die.  
  
Amused laughter met Vegeta's ears, and for once, he knew the person, a warrior supposedly superior to himself, before their eyes met. His jailor, his hated foe, had come to pay him a visit, or perhaps, he mused, to take care of business. "Lord Freeza to see you, Vegeta." the tall, handsome man said simply. "You'd best clean yourself up, hmm?" the smile he dangled in front of them was sharp with something unknown. "Oh, and do hurry. You of all people should know what Lord Freeza likes, after all."  
  
Standing there, in the midst of inconsequential soldiers who would make no impact on the universe, Vegeta narrowed his gaze, and made a promise to himself.  
  
There was simply too much to do here, to bother with Zarbon.  
  
He had business to take care of.  
  
*****  
  
Leaning heavily against the wall as he made his way from the infirmary to his room, Vegeta sighed deeply, sincerely wishing the acclaimed doctors could do something more for him than prod his sore muscles with icy hands and insert needles loaded with various medicines to get the poisons flowing through his blood. They were carefully measured, naturally, but one of those fools might very well make a careless mistake with the dosage and accidentally, he scoffed at the notion, send him into anaphylactic shock.  
  
Next time you choose your fights, he warned himself, make certain you're strong enough to be absolutely sure of the outcome. Two near-death encounters at the hands of the same man. Pathetic. So, he was reduced to berating himself over things he should have been able to work through, remaining on a level far below his normal quality of strength. There were two reasons he remained alive, and neither of them were respectable in his mind.  
  
One, he knew, was Freeza. Closing his eyes and clenching his hands into fists, he wondered what it meant to be so far gone that he relied on his father's murderer to keep his sorry life. It was not the presence of the evil being itself, however, that stayed Zarbon's hand. It was the fear Freeza inspired in the warrior's heart, and the consequences that the man would face if he killed Vegeta when the Aeesu-jin still saw use in him.  
  
As for the other, not even Vegeta could begin to guess. It simply had to be, for fear alone would not stay Zarbon's hand.  
  
"Feeling better, are we?" the cold voice came from behind him, unannounced and unpredicted. Despite himself, Vegeta tensed, but could not find the strength to turn about as of yet. Shaking his head, as if forlorn, the small creature offered a tiny smile, and a low laugh that brought chills to his bones. "This is the second time this week," he noted, holding up two small, clawed fingers, "which you've managed to waste my supplies because of a petty feud between you and one of my officers." he trailed off, amusement heavy in his voice. "What have you to say for yourself?"  
  
Somehow, he managed a slight, courteous bow. "I ask your forgiveness, Lord Freeza," he murmured, hiding his emotions behind an impenetrable wall of pride not even the universe's master could break. "It shall not happen again."  
  
Once again, that cool smile. "I should hope not." He closed his eyes modestly, tilting his head toward the ceiling, "For if it does, oh prince." he trailed off, peering at the overhead lights through tiny slits.  
  
"Understood." Vegeta bowed again, clutching his side with one hand, while keeping his tail wrapped firmly around his midsection. He hurt more than he was willing to admit, especially to this merciless being of astonishing power.  
  
For a moment, the cool, polite smile slipped from the Aeesu-jin's face, revealing something gross and malignant, something that may have resembled anger and perhaps a small bit of. fear? There was a pause in time itself, as the world, and one Saiya- jin prince, held their collective breath. "I'll have you know that I've sent for the Ginyu force," he commented, and the icy mask was resumed. "If you and Zarbon are too consumed by the incessant anger that drives you to try and kill one another simply because you're feeling." he trailed off, an amused smile creeping across his face. "How is it called?" he wondered, tail twitching restlessly as he pondered. "Threatened, I believe they've named it," oh, how the white teeth sparkled, "Well, you simply may not waste my time and resources on so personal a venture." There was a deadly promise in his eyes, in his tone, better left unnamed and unnoticed, for turning that cold fire upon oneself was foolhardy and unprecedented. Beyond was silence unexplored and untamed, virgin as the newborn night, stealthy as the mythical beast in Saiya-jin mythology, the great monster that trampled worlds and hid the sun. It was unlike anything the prince had ever seen.  
  
It was said, amongst Vegeta's people, that this unnamed monster had been born of fire and blood, a terrible thing that had lived on the lives of planets, suckling the souls of worlds from childhood, learning to pull the lifeblood thin, terrorizing its inhabitants to make it bitter-sweet with despair. The story was an old one, beyond the recollection of any even when Vegeta's father was a babe, faded into myth as the glorious truth was woven into a story too eccentric to believe. It had long been under consideration by those of curious nature, the question of truth and lies, and pondered laboriously. Given the knowledge that his people were not known to embellish, it was whispered that there may have been a grain of truth to it all.  
  
The story ran through his mind in flashes of brilliant color and wars of design, and slowly, he began to wonder. All knew it had begun with the seed of one man embedded in another; forcefully, unbidden and without right. There was no pity for him, in a society where strength was everything, and so he was cast out. So the bitter, sorrowful journey of that man into darkness, upon which all is lost, has never been told. Had he stayed, it may have been different. During those times, not all the future was hidden, and it had been foreseen, the tale whispered, that these events would occur. It had been made known to few that the man would bring forth two sons and two alone. One of war and death, the other of light and life, and these two would fight bitterly until the end of time, preserving the balance as the Kais could not. But not all such dreams are true, and speaking them aloud can ruin such prophecies. All hope was lost when the monster the man delivered destroyed him, and the promise lay unfulfilled.  
  
There was little use for such things, Vegeta knew. Within dreams lies their undoing. No man dare lay quiet for fear of failure, and how can he speak, when the warning goes both ways?  
  
So the monster grew to adulthood, plundering worlds and leaving them huge balls of dirt no life could survive, tasting that which no other had ever dreamed obtainable. It grew beyond belief, evolving, mutating, into an immortal creature that knew no boundaries.  
  
Through closed lids, Vegeta saw the tremendous power beneath the lizard's skin, and wondered.  
  
The slayer of this mighty beast, the tale claimed, was the smallest, weakest child of the Saiya-jin race. Not the Champion. He who had sacrificed all. The moral, Vegeta's father had whispered, was that true strength was inborn, and potential of the greatest kind was often locked in hollow shells. Never put your guard down, he'd bidden him. No one is innocent, and no one may be trusted, not even the least of all. "Yes, lord," he murmured simply, without expression, without moving. He spoke to the dead, not the living, but let the foul demon take it as he wanted. He would not betray his thoughts as yet.  
  
Somehow, he knew the Aeesu-jin's smile twisted upwards into a sardonic smirk, without the benefit of sight. "You'd best clean yourself up, Vegeta. No sense in walking about as you are now." he chuckled, low and deep. "No sense indeed."  
  
Where was the champion to slay this beast? How long would it be, before this monster met its end?  
  
The prince frowned, tightening his posture just enough to make reaction easier. His eyes flew open, anger flaring and energy rising. He nearly flew to his death, nearly accepted the unvoiced challenge to fight for all he was worth.  
  
But he didn't.  
  
Couldn't.  
  
"And try." his eyes twinkled, "always try your best." He paused, waiting for some sign of understanding, but not long, and the weary warrior could only nod. "And if that's not good enough, Prince Vegeta," there was laughter in his voice as Vegeta's ears burned, "I can surely find other uses for you."  
  
As suddenly as he'd come to be there, Freeza was gone.  
  
With that, the darkness closed about him, leaving only a pinprick of light as he struggled to retain consciousness. His eyes fluttered of their own accord, and his head sagged.  
  
It was time, he supposed, to rest.  
  
*****  
  
There was silence within the cavern for what seemed like decades. Vegeta stared up at the sky, his breathing shallow, though unhurried. It seemed his spirit, like his body, suffered greatly, and despite his attempts, he'd come here after all. All his efforts, wasted. And even then, it was the others, the weaklings who were in every way stronger than he, who won over.  
  
Yes. It took a time like this to make silence, the absence of sound, deafening.  
  
As he shifted in his bed of earth, scratching his neck and jarring his senses, he wondered through the pain how it could be that Zarbon had brought him here. How. He snorted. Perhaps that wasn't the word. He was weak enough, after too many battles, to be carried about like some pathetic kitten. Defenseless. Without a way to protect his dignity. His pride. He'd suffered too much.  
  
It was bad enough that he lowered himself to his enemies' level. Though there was cause enough to do so, reason claimed. To hell with reason, Vegeta thought vaguely. Together, it argued, they would try to overcome a foe-- all too powerful, Vegeta interrupted, and too skilled for anyone to make a difference. In the end, it would come down to just the one. Comrades and alliances be damned.  
  
...reason.  
  
Two arms wrapped around his torso, tightening just enough to crack his ribs, but not enough to puncture. The breath caught in his throat, and all he could hear, all he could see, was as nothing.  
  
Zarbon. They'd fought twice, each encounter leading Vegeta to less efficiency and steadily more grievous injuries. Freeza had let him aboard, expecting such rebellion from the Saiya-jin prince, but the beatings he sustained were completely unforeseen, and without use of the Isolation Chamber, there was scant little his body could do against the harsh torment he endured. So he was broken. The silence remained part of his resting, and in his solitude, not a thing could be found.  
  
A grin, too full, too much like his own, shone down upon him. The pain he felt because of this man was indescribable, and though he tried to retaliate, the blows he made were inconsequential, like a child striking angrily against a parent. And all of this only amused the Ginyu warrior all the more. Silence filled his realm, and through his futile efforts to survive, he heard and saw, though he remained halfway between the lands of dreaming and waking. So it was, he witnessed the arrival of Kakarott, the only other Saiya-jin who remained alive, be it on this planet or any other.  
  
His adversary was distracted enough to release him, and in a daze, Vegeta struck out, blindly aiming for whatever he could. But it was not his helpless attempts that held the man at bay, nor was it his words, the angry shouts he'd murmured in his head all along, that felled the monstrous giant.  
  
So when the tables turned, Zarbon had joined up with the humans, aligning himself with the so-called forces of "good" as soon as Kakarott showed his skills. They were fools to believe the lizard-man, Vegeta knew from experience, as the traitor would only have his welfare in mind, and not the good of the whole. The moment Freeza proved himself to be the better, the blue skinned man would trade allegiances yet again.  
  
Damn Zarbon.  
  
Imagining the looks of horror and disbelief on their open faces, should that prediction come into reality, Vegeta smiled.  
  
His head hurt too much to think about it any longer. The idiotic Saiya-jin that had arrived here only had three senzu, those mysterious plants with healing properties, to pass between them, and Zarbon had suggested against Vegeta's use of one of those precious things, but Kakarott was the final one to decide. Well, that's certainly wonderful for him. One had gone to Krillin, one to his son, Gohan, and half had gone to Vegeta, with the remaining half to Zarbon. Needless to say, it hadn't done much good for him, and Zarbon was more winded than hurt. It had been a complete waste.  
  
None of his thoughts made any sense. Least of all to him. Despite everything, he needed too much. His body was weak, and would remain so until he managed to rest long enough to fully recover. Even the bald human and the half-breed were stronger than he at this point, and the low-bred Saiya-jin, Kakarott, was far more dangerous than even Zarbon, having quite possibly become a match for Freeza himself.  
  
Now who could have reasoned that...?  
  
Even now, in the midst of all his pain, Vegeta was met with the sure fact that a lowly third-class warrior had bested him-- not once, but twice, once on a field where they had fought one another, and again when he, Kakarott, had bested fighters Vegeta couldn't touch.  
  
The movements were too fast to follow. Each blow bled into the next, creating a seamless transition even the mighty Ginyu could not follow. He moved with ease unprecedented, with such skill and grace that all who watched were mesmerized. He practiced with complete lack of effort, and Vegeta's heart broke to see it. All of this, from a low born commoner. When Vegeta.  
  
None of them, not even Captain Ginyu, stood a chance.  
  
And it was luck alone that kept the traitors alive. Luck and Kakarott's compassionate heart.  
  
The room-- no, he was out of doors. He remembered that much --darkened, obscuring what little he could make out and transforming it into formless masses of light and dark. Even then, he could see into his past, watching all the mistakes he'd made with no thought of excuse, catching everything from the smallest, most insignificant of things to the irrational impulses he'd given in to so many times, those errors that had almost cost him his life. The more he tried to smooth his memory, the more he recalled, and each time he cleared his mind of those faults, he saw Kakarott, the once bumbling fool, now turned warrior of extreme potential, and within the depths of reminiscence, the younger Saiya-jin smiled, offering a hand, offering forgiveness he could never accept.  
  
His eyes glazed, and as he struggled to breathe, unaware of everything but himself, and the injuries he sustained, he stumbled upon a revelation familiar to him. He was nothing in the eyes of the others. All he'd succeeded in doing was humiliating himself beyond repair. To warriors like the Ginyu, he was little more than a child playing at war, and to a being such as Kakarott, he was. nothing. That terrible truth. The simplest, most awful state a Saiya-jin could be, and to know such was to know despair. The truth of it all burned his soul, and everything he'd fought for-- lived for --was for naught. His heart and spirit weighed heavily upon his body, and the result was immeasurable pain and strife like he'd never known. Slowly, he was reduced.  
  
Footsteps echoed in his ears, and after a moment, Vegeta realized there'd been a disturbance in the wind, heralding the stranger's approach. Instinctively, he tensed.  
  
Strong arms had closed about him, pressing his sore muscles beyond their limits, preventing all hope of escape. And then gone, because of him. There was so much wasted, because of that one warrior who outclassed them all.  
  
"What the hell do you want?" he finally asked, as the echoes grew louder, and finally, ceased as the walker stopped before him. There was silence for a while, as if the walker knew not what to say, but it was just as well. Between the glaring sunlight, the damned heat, and his body's futile attempts at surviving, he was having a difficult enough time staying conscious. Until he regained complete awareness, he wouldn't understand any answer that might come forth.  
  
Breath was drawn, and then he heard a great sigh. "I'd wondered where you'd gone off to." So, it was Kakarott after all. He should have known that the spirit sensing Saiya-jin could have found him at a moment's notice. "I'm sorry you're still not feeling well," he hesitantly added, and Vegeta finally found the strength to open his eyes, merely for the pleasure of glowering at the overgrown fool.  
  
"Believe me, Kakarott, so am I," he muttered, and let his eyes drift closed again.  
  
There was some shuffling, and the distinctive sound of a cloth bag being drawn open, followed by more rustling as the man tried to find something amidst a jumble of things. He was murmuring something to himself, but too tired and disinterested to care, Vegeta let the noise slide over him like a slow liquid over glass, instead concentrating on the sounds of his actions, the wind, and the wheezing of his lungs as he struggled to draw breath. "Um. I know it's not much, but here. you look like you could use a little water," the mouth of a bottle was pushed into his mouth, and one strong hand was supporting his neck, as if he were a small child, the other holding the container at an angle so the water could fall freely. He could either drink, or be drowned, and considering the outcomes of both, Vegeta ruefully went with the former. It wasn't long before the contents were gone, and the humiliating scene came to an end.  
  
"You idiot," the weary prince muttered, annoyed more than grateful. "Do you honestly think that will do any good?" the other Saiya-jin stuttered some sort of response, but he was too far gone to catch much of it. "Leave. Me. Alone. I don't want your pity, or your pathetic attempts at medical treatment. So get the hell out of my face!" What little strength he had left seemed to evaporate, and slowly, his body seemed to stop working altogether.  
  
It was Kakarott who dragged him back into consciousness, simply by speaking slowly, softly, and with some amount of what Vegeta might have called respect, had he been another person. ".thank you, Vegeta. For helping everyone, especially for reminding Gohan and Krillin of...well, working together. I know it must have been difficult," he laughed slowly, without humor, but some small amount of amusement. It was a father's laugh. A man who'd seen much, and feared his child would see yet more of the same. Strange. He'd heard his father laugh like that, but the Saiya-jin king's laughter was far more bitter, lacking that tinge of. hope? So that's what it was. Damn fool. "So. thanks."  
  
There seemed to be life in him yet, and the slow wearying war he waged against himself continued on, with him slowly trying for the goal he sought most: pride. It was that which had him speak, and that alone that kept his mind from dreaming. When that was gone, he would have no crutch on which to lean, and he would fall, to death or to victory. There were no other options. "I want nothing to do with you or your pathetic friends..." he breathed deeply, trying to clear his lungs, trying to clear his mind. "Get the hell away from me."  
  
Once again, there came a great sigh. ".get some sleep, okay?"  
  
Silence folded about him like a heavy blanket, and the stars that he would have liked to see shone brightly, as the memory of a child, too well raised as a fighter, resurfaced. Blood and death seemed to haunt him still, and the sure knowledge of defeat echoed death's dim rhapsody, pushing everything to the bottom of a clear, cold lake that knew no end. Somewhere, deep within himself, he knew peace, but it was too far removed to ever be acknowledged, and nothing he could do now, or ever after, would alter the fate his soul was chained to.  
  
*****  
  
As he met the monster's gaze, Vegeta wondered what it was to be a warrior, a Saiya-jin without pride, but glory. Was it better to be so, or did it instill the damning seed of doubt that would manifest into a future he could not bear? In the depths of his mind, he began to see the truth, and the cold dread of fate unwanted held him in its icy grip. Freeza, the lord and master of the known universe, had turned his eye on an errant prince, and what he planned was not as Vegeta would have it.  
  
Silence unspoken, dread untold clung about the air, seeping into the hearts of all, letting them know that this time of respite had passed, and the battle was ready to begin anew. The human band stood close by, trembling with fear, but willing as before to help where they could, and by doing so they put the others to shame. The harsh desert winds blew about them all, winding in and out, the sand seeping into open wounds, cutting the raw flesh like millions of knives, serving as a constant reminder of their ineptitude, of their failures.  
  
Freeza smiled, and the world was still. "Well, it looks as if our little song bird has at last broken free," the Aeesu-jin began, amusement dancing eerily in the small creature's eyes. "Have you the spirit to continue, pet, or will your poor heart burst before it's all said and done?" The hot desert winds lost their edge, and the bite of winter seemed to overcome everything. For the moment, Namek had lost her cruel beauty, and around them the conditions they'd long endured abated. Vegeta tightened his stance to that of a fighter's crouch, sore though he was, and somehow he realized this dictator anticipated exactly that, indeed, counted on it, for the Saiya-jin was no more in command of his mind and body than he was in control of Lord Freeza's army.  
  
He was a puppet. A toy, acting on command. Without free will of his own.  
  
Not a soul stirred. Kakarott had other matters to attend to, namely the lives of his son and the other earth 'warriors,' so he could hardly leave them as they were. The focus had been pulled from Freeza to one of his underlings, and not a one of them knew how to respond. Somewhere, far within, Vegeta knew something was coming. The events so far could only turn for the worse, and as far as dealings with Freeza went, that couldn't bode well for anyone, least of all himself.  
  
Tisking quietly to himself, Freeza shook his head mournfully, his amused smile twitching as he pulled everyone back. "Where's that imprudent brat of a Saiya-jin gone off to?" he wondered, landing a few yards away from Vegeta. "Has the prince finally come off his pedestal to join the rest of us?" Still, there was no answer. Showing less amusement now, the Aeesu-jin stepped forward, forcing the defeated warrior to meet his gaze by taking Vegeta's head in one clawed hand. "No. I think not."  
  
"Freeza!" that could only be Kakarott, champion of good, the only one idiotic enough to think he could stand against a being like Freeza. The only one to try and show him the error of his ways. "Stop this. He can't fight you!" there was an edge of desperation alongside the calm passion that had imbedded itself in the man's voice, and a quiet threat buried deep in his black eyes.  
  
Growling in annoyance, Vegeta tore himself from Freeza's grasp, finding strength and mobility from anger and pride alone, where dignity and skill had failed him. "Stay out of this, Kakarott!" he demanded.  
  
Chuckling with amusement, Freeza shook his head, opening his arms wide, as if to suggest disarmament, and let his tiny smirk widen. "Do you honestly think I'd be so cruel as to take advantage of a helpless, broken prince?" he closed his eyes, the very picture of smug charm and well earned arrogance rolled into one.  
  
Vegeta lunged, aiming a blow at the creature's head with his good leg, pulling his energy into one movement that would have been enough to topple mountains. The timing was perfect, the action precise and as well preformed as possible, challenging even Kakarott's unique style.  
  
Had the lizard been a normal man, he would be dead, but he was not, and the life flowed in him still.  
  
With the same hand that had held him pinioned only moments before, Freeza blocked the perfectly executed maneuver, and twisted. Bone shattered, muscle tore, and Vegeta felt the blood drain from his body before a small, harmless blast of chi cauterized the wound as sand and dirt began to fill the small hole.  
  
"You cease to amuse me, prince. Have you lost sight of your father's dying goal?" No reply came, and the hand that upheld him was swiftly removed, sending Vegeta to the earth, unable to support his body on one badly bruised leg when the other was broken, probably beyond repair. "I have no use for you, or your petty triumphs and defeats. Your strength is gone, perhaps past recollection, and your life is virtually at an end. So speak, prince, or forever know the silence of death." The words alone would have held passion, had they been delivered by someone else. But this was Freeza, and there was no glory, no pride to be felt under that cold command. The practiced, elegant speech he'd adopted was as to the Aeesu-jin as an actor is to his role, developed to a fault for the sole purpose of fooling everyone. He was kingly in mannerisms because it amused him to be so, and he was polite, thoughtful and well spoken for that same reason.  
  
How well Vegeta had come to know that.  
  
There was a disturbance from behind them as Kakarott moved away from the bloodied body of Gohan, when Vegeta found his voice. "Stay the hell out of this," he wheezed, trying not to inhale sand, blood or dirt. "You want me to talk, Lord Freeza?" he snorted with choked amusement, steadfastly keeping his face void of emotion. Slowly, he pulled himself up; balancing carefully as he tried to find the center he needed to avoid collapse, listening to the quiet reign of air over earth as mountains were eroded by wind alone. "I was taken from my father as a child so that I might serve under you, Lord Freeza," The scorn was heavy on his voice, though it cost him more than he would have liked, "leaving behind the ways of our people to learn what I might.  
  
"You slew my father, destroyed my planet, and cast the Saiya-jin race into darkness out of fear." The amusement was gone entirely from Freeza's face, and he the chill that had filled the air before resurfaced, and as if in a dream, Vegeta saw the Aeesujin reach forward, taking the prince by the shoulder, and roughly pushing a hand through his chest. His eyes widened out of pain and surprise, as the monster pulled the small clawed hand out again, letting the blood drip from his fingers as the Saiya-jin tried to breathe. "You. wanted to be sure that no savior would arise, that no being superior to yourself would overcome difficulties. and destroy you. the empire you've built." He laughed, and slowly his vision faded, and his mouth filled with blood. "You, Kakarott, are that person. Super Saiya-jin. You will defeat he whom none can touch." Black despair filled his mind, and the ghosts of his past resurfaced. His father, the one man who'd never doubted him, he who pushed him to his limits so that he might become stronger, loomed in his memory, disapproving, uncertain, damning him and his soul to hell, where he would find no respite. ".you.are Saiya-jin."  
  
Slowly, his consciousness left him, and as he felt his life's blood drain away, he remembered, and knew. He was not strong enough, would never be strong enough, to do what was required. He'd failed, and he would pay the penalty.  
  
In the end, there was only silence, and death's cold hand closed tightly around his neck, forgetting all ties to the living world, and all that might have saved him.  
  
He breathed.  
  
Sighed.  
  
And knew no more.  
  
It's been said that there is no harsher judge of the sinner than the sinner himself, and that the conscience would see to it that all sins, large and small, are repented for, in one form or another. It's possible, of course, for the conscience to be unwise, too harsh, or too gentle, and it's feasible, naturally, that one might find one's self trapped in a hell of one's own making when that selfsame soul was destined for heaven. And when that is the case, there is nothing for it but quiet lamentation, and the knowledge that one can indeed be unreasonable in matters of great importance.  
  
On the desert like planes of Namek, the wind blew over the still warm body of a lost prince, and howled a silent wail of grief for a proud soul broken by strife and anger too long held. The world was quiet with the understanding that even now, after so much pain and suffering, the battle had barely begun. Slowly, slowly, the fighters would step up, and they would be beat down again, or they would fall, and watching, the spirits that guarded the Namekian planet bore witness to the simple burial, silently waiting for the end that was sure to come.  
  
Deserted, but not so, when it all came to a close, it was the wind alone that saw it.  
  
*****  
  
Green. He woke, to find himself staring into fields and fields of green leaves, piled thickly, one on top of the other, covering an endless sky so pure and blue it stung his dark eyes to see it. There was only the quiet sigh of the breeze, a soft whisper of night's untold and stories that had yet to be breathed into being, and the lull of grass and trees swaying across the field. It was so. peaceful. His body ached no longer, and the dismal abyss he'd suffered was no longer in existence, except within the depths of his mind. Dimly, he was aware of the presence of others, small people with green hands in long robes of white and gray, and the earth warriors that'd managed to stay alive.  
  
Alive.  
  
He closed his eyes slowly, and listened to the dull pounding of his heart, waiting for the reality to make itself apparent, to show him once more that he was dead indeed, that the endless solitude, the ghosts, were the only true eternals.  
  
But it remained as it was, and the low murmur of voices became a deafening roar as time went on, and events continued their course. Vegeta pulled himself to a sitting position, and watched silently as the congregation of Namekians and humans alike worried, bustling about until there was no doubt in their minds that everything would be all right for them, and their favorite hero, the Saiya-jin they called Goku.  
  
"Fools," he murmured, allowing his voice to rise of its own accord, above the din that the small people created. "What you do will have no effect on the life or death of Kakarott, whether or not you'd like it to be so." There was silence, suddenly, and all eyes turned to him. Only Zarbon would meet his gaze, and contempt was heavy in the blue skinned man's eyes.  
  
He sneered, the ugly snarl marring his features the way only that action could. "So, you're alive after all." He snorted. "There's a pity. Turns out your Dragon Balls have a flaw," he noted, the scowl transforming into a pretty little smirk as he turned to regard Bulma, the only female in the group. "Brought one fish back that ought to have been left at sea," he closed his eyes a moment, shrugging casually. "No matter. That's a problem easily solved." He raised one hand, forming a small, deadly ball of chi in his palm.  
  
"Wait a second!" Gohan, the half Saiya-jin son of Kakarott and some earth woman unknown to Vegeta, demanded. He'd thought there was nothing more to the boy than a small, determined bookworm of a child who thought to help where he might but left his potential untapped. Apparently, that assumption wasn't entirely true, as when the time was right, he could stand on his own. "Don't you think he's back for a reason? We wished that the good people would return to life." he paused. "Everybody deserves a second chance!" he spoke quickly, desperately, almost waiting for someone to reprimand him for daring to hope that a person like Vegeta ought to be spared. Once, the prince might have been insulted to the point of rage, but now, there was only the dull ache of a bleeding heart now healed, and the mind numbing emptiness that came with being brought back from hell.  
  
Bulma punched Zarbon's arm lightly. Obviously, despite the short time they'd known one another; Bulma was already closer to him than so many others had failed to be. "He's right, you know." She glared. "He knew to trust you, after all, when anyone else would have killed you!" she grimaced at the thought, but pushed on anyways. "Goku knows when to trust people, mister, and I'd think his son would, too!" she glared. "I never thought I'd be saying this, but don't you dare kill Vegeta!" she squirmed, shaking her head frantically, as if to rid her mind of such an uncomfortable thought. Vegeta's eyes narrowed. He didn't care much for the human girl, but those actions alone earned his annoyance. "Ugh! Saying that just gave me a bad case of the willies," she murmured, clutching her arms to her chest in a childish manner.  
  
Gohan frowned, sensing something beyond all probability. "Then he's going to have to stay where a smart, capable person can keep an eye on him," he paused, neatly avoiding Bulma's gaze, "somewhere he'll never be alone to make trouble or anything," he drew a circle in the dirt with one foot, and looked up again, a blank expression now on his face. He'd learned the subtle art of manipulation, it seemed, and put it to good use. "Someplace with strong walls, and technology good enough to keep unwanted intruders out." So they'd been doing quite a lot of talking indeed.  
  
Seeing where he was going, Bulma screeched with outrage, looking horrified, but before she could open her mouth, the blue skinned man picked up his train of thought. "I'd think a house as big and luxurious as yours is could manage to house one Saiya-jin. At the very least," he smiled quietly, "If you don't have the room, you can keep him in a closet."  
  
Bulma bristled. "Are you kidding me? Capsule Corp has got at least a hundred or so rooms and many of them are quite livable! The nerve, saying that! How. how rude!" pushing her hair out of her face and fuming for a moment, she stopped, stared, and blinked at the quietly laughing young boy. Her mouth dropped open. "Who are you, and what have you done with Gohan?"  
  
The half Saiya-jin smiled. "Then it's been decided."  
  
The female looked flabbergasted. "I'll get you for that, mister." She muttered, ignoring Zarbon's interference. "As for you!" she whirled on Vegeta. "You'd better be house trained, buddy, because I don't have the time or patience to adjust my house to your living style. And if you hurt anyone in my house, you're out, got it?"  
  
Vegeta ignored her completely; listening to the quiet rustle of leaves, and watching the grass blow, wondering how it was that he'd managed to come back to life, when there was no hope for redemption for him. His misdeeds were too great, his existence too filled with blood and death to ever be pure again.  
  
Pure.  
  
Sitting at his father's side, a young child pondered the inconsistencies of life. All things had the same amounts of it, he supposed... A lifetime. Not all lifetimes were the same length, but that was beside the point.  
  
He was a bright child, not a genius perhaps, but clever enough to realize that words, like men, could be manipulated. And like men, they had many uses.  
  
The difference, of course, was that words cannot die. and that, the child decided, is what makes them so utterly useless. A man has more meaning if he knows he will die... he seeks to make a mark, to survive through the ages in stories of heroism or in the textbooks of scholars for whatever he's done. A word, groups of them, even, simply existed. Just because.  
  
A spoken or written representation of a thought or of an action someone performed.  
  
But people believed words had power. They believed a word from an overlord was law.  
  
.but actions are so much stronger than words.  
  
Through a daze, he watched as they continued on, the female ranting on and off again as they made their way to her home, and when they were seated, Vegeta barely noticed the food placed in front of him. It was easily enough to satisfy the appetite of a Saiya-jin, as the Briefs home was not unfamiliar with the quantity of nourishment required to he and his species, but the taste, textures and smells were lost on him. Nothing could penetrate the thick mist that surrounded him, and the pains of life reminded him all the more of his failures. He was alone the way few had ever been.  
  
"Here, sweetie, why don't you have a glass of wine to go with that potato, hmm?" Bulma's mother, the tall, simple minded blond woman offered.  
  
Numbly, Vegeta nodded, taking the glass along with the emerald bottle, noting the faint smell of acid, fruit, and something he couldn't quite place. The amber liquid rolled about his glass pleasantly, and after a moment's consideration, Vegeta swiftly emptied its contents. He nearly gagged, but managed to down the liquid without mishap. It wasn't the taste that surprised him, however, but the fiery, burning sensation that came with the foul smelling brew and the dizzy, light-headedness that followed directly after. At once, it seemed, his demons were banished to the depths of the green bottle, and everything that had once seemed of importance took on a more careless manner. Blinking, he looked up again, a question on his lips.  
  
"Oh, dearie me! You've never tried alcohol before, now have you? Well, at least not from earth!" the blond woman looked a little confused, wondering whether or not that was a good thing. "Oh, well darn. I shouldn't have let you drink that entire cup at once. I imagine you're feeling quite tipsy!" she giggled, and sighed dramatically. "It's a depressant, if you wanted to know. Papa is always telling me that, well, whenever I open a bottle, in any case, and it does something or other to the nerves." she shrugged prettily. "Well, whatever it does, it certainly does a number on the brain!" she laughed, and retrieved another bottle. "Would you like a second glass?" she asked pleasantly, setting the second container on the table in front of him.  
  
The emptiness filled, and his mind pleasantly cleared of all worries, Vegeta nodded, and lifted a glass of the amber liquid to his lips.  
  
*****  
  
The stars shone brightly where he lay, and though the moon was shining with all her might, Trunks could see them quite readily. Lying comfortably on the grassy plane, he wondered about life. It was as good a place to do so as any, and quiet, besides. The flowers, the trees, and all of these things were green and lush here, without the taint he'd come to associate with greenery. It was here he remembered the "wilderness" of his backyard when he was a child, tamed, but not noticeably so, and more beautiful than he could have hoped. Nature is full of surprises, however, and while everything was lush and good, it could not stay that way always.  
  
He'd been sitting here all day, just listening, watching, and observing as life went on around him. He heard the birds and their twittering, and understood that the buzz and hum of the tiny microcosm that was his little meadow was reminiscent of the entire world, with the same troubles, miracles, peace and strife everything knew. And as he watched the darkened sky, he saw pictures in the clouds, those empty spaces that blocked his view of the stars, and found them with the same care a very small child might use.  
  
But he could not remain with such simple thoughts.  
  
Lurking in and out of his mind, as a song would haunt a theater, the same thought drifted in and out of his consciousness. He could not turn away, despite valiant efforts, and he could not shy from the questions that so plagued him.  
  
My dad.  
  
Vegeta wasn't the way he should have been, not the way the demi Saiya-jin's mother had spoken of him, and not as he'd been before, when Trunks had seen how different he could be. For Kami's sake, he even spoke differently! His speech, it was true, varied as much as the weather, and where one man he'd met was cold hearted, broken, and full of bitterness and shame, the other was proud, strong, and as arrogant as they come. In his heart, the boy called Trunks knew he could not accept this other, this mockery of a man that should have been his father. He could no more believe this than he could acknowledge the words the man had admitted to.  
  
There had to be something wrong there. Something he could fix.  
  
If not. well.  
  
If he was Trunks' father, what would that make him?  
  
The wind blew silently across the field, rustling the leaves and casting all dead weight aside, moving, drifting, without regard to the Saiya-jin who lay there, quietly pondering the mysteries the past held so tightly in her calm, all encumbering grasp. Somewhere, there was an answer. As the grass around him stirred, Trunks wondered if it was the reply he sought, or something too blemished for him to understand.  
  
Some things, he mused, are best left unanswered.  
  
His mother's voice echoed on the wind, and as he gazed into the heavens, the dark clouds in a midnight sky overtook the stars at last, and rain dribbled down from above. A fitting end, he thought absently, letting his eyes begin to drift shut, but watching still, he waited for the tiny water droplets to land. At last, he was free to close his eyes to the world, and let her get along with her business.  
  
Some things. were best left untouched.  
  
*****  
  
Actum este  
  
*1, Aeesujin. The name for Freeza's species, coined by Chelsee (author of Contradicting Mission, a well written story if I've ever read one, and artist of extreme talent and potential) in her stories. I asked her permission to use the word, and she said yes. So, Aeesujin refers to the lizard-like, horned species with the ability to transform into hideous monsters and slim, powerful beings with power unlike most creatures. When "the" is added, I'm probably referring to Freeza, as he's the only one on the planet at the time.  
  
Author's note: For those of you who've read my other story, you probably know that I tend to be quite lengthy in my notes. What can I say? I'm long winded, and have many people to thank. Add to that a bored Taes tired of mentally translating, and you get long paragraphs about nothing in particular. Also, some things do require explanation, though the general rule of thumb is "Never apologize, and never explain." (Too bad I'm not good at that, hmm?)  
  
For those of you who wondered, this is a companion piece to Losing Innocence, to explain why Vegeta is a drunk, and how it is that he gave up on everything. My earlier note stands true; this is a "what if" piece, concerning what may have happened, had Freeza pulled Vegeta to Namek instead of allowing him to meander on over at his own pace. Whether or not my version of things is plausible is an opinion that everyone is likely to differ in.  
  
Thanks go out to any of you who choose to review. Feedback is always welcome to a growing mind (and you know minds are always growing), and constructive criticism can do a world of good.  
  
Many thanks to UnromanticPoetess, to whom this is dedicated. Early on in Losing Innocence, you reminded me that I'd never taken the time to explain Vegeta's character, and pretty much left a lot of things unsaid. I hope you enjoy this, or at least get a few questions answered. And thank you for fixing some of my typos.! If I ever get the time, I`ll be reposting this with an extra scene. the Ginyu one, because it occurred to me that no one got my sum-up after it. that, and I'll try and better explain the mini- story that Vegeta thought about. the monster eating the world one.  
  
Taise and Meghan; where would I be without you two? It's a pity one can't bring one's editor overseas, or I'd be much happier with this. As for you, oh kind twin, don't forget to write to me. Thus far you haven't called me once. You have to remember that I can't read your mind when we're hours apart! ^_~ ; Both of you: your words of inspiration and wisdom have brought me farther than I'd have gone otherwise, and pulled me through many hard points in life. Without you, this wouldn't be possible, and the strength of mind and determination you've lent me is immeasurably helpful. I've never known better friends than the two of you.  
  
Chelsee; thank you for the wonderful inspiration your story gives, and the beautiful artwork you've bestowed to the world. Your words have reminded me, time and time again, why it is an author puts words to paper. there's a story to tell, lessons to learn, and much to be felt through writing. Thanks for letting me "borrow" your word! I hope one of these days I can prepare something as beautiful and sorrowful as your stories.  
  
Anyways, I hope this covers it. If there are any questions left unanswered (that have to do with Vegeta, in any case), let me know. Since I'm revising this anways, you might as well tell me what needs to be fixed, ne? Constructive reviews are ALWAYS welcomed.  
  
September, 2003.  
  
Comments, critiques, reviews, and general rants are well accepted.  
  
Thank you for your time. 


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